


Dynasty

by Bri_Cheese



Series: Future ’verse [2]
Category: The West Wing
Genre: F/M, Far Future, Friendship, Future Fic, Gen, M/M, More tags to be added, Non-Linear Narrative, Original Character(s), Physical Disability, Politics, Post-Series, campaign
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-11-29
Updated: 2018-02-10
Packaged: 2019-02-08 07:49:26
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 8,275
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12860064
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bri_Cheese/pseuds/Bri_Cheese
Summary: Vignettes in "Mav-and-Bri's" 'verse (more info in series description), centralizing around the (OC) children of West Wing characters.





	1. Running Mates

**Author's Note:**

> The son of Josh and Donna Lyman is running for President and he knows who he wants as a running mate.

**Timeframe: During the Election (July 2054)**

  
Leo-Vincente Santos, known since he was four days old as “Elvie”, and known for the past seven years as Governor Santos, wanted to throw something at the pristine white walls of his large office. His father had always told him that he had gotten his mother’s temper - which was never a complement. Elvie was just finished with stupidity.  
  
He had half a mind to dump the tablet in front of him. Some moronic state legislator had introduced the idea of re-establishing capital punishment in the State of Texas. It was the 2050s for crying out loud! Texas had been one of the last states to outlaw the death-penalty, and it had been Elvie that had done so early on in his career.  
  
He just wanted to be done his term. He was only in his forties, but his rich black hair was already going grey at his temples - no doubt a by-product of being connected to the executive branch of the government for literally his entire existence. He had been conceived in the White House during his father’s first term as president and spent the first five years of his life terrorizing the Secret Service, ambassadors, and both the East and West Wings of the most powerful house in the world. He got into public service to help people, just like his father did. But it was hard to help people when fellow law makers wanted to go back to the dark ages. Why hadn’t the federal government outlawed the death-penalty once and for all?  
  
He was cranky.  
  
Or maybe it was just the Texas heat after a long summer.  
  
On his grand wood desk, his phone beeped. It was his secretary. He pressed a button, desperate for any sort of distraction. “Yeah, Lee-Ann?”  
  
_“Senator Lyman is here to see you.”_  
  
Elvie furrowed his brow in confusion. Leo Lyman was one of Elvie’s oldest friends - they had practically spent their toddlerhood together along with Josie Seaborn. Leo’s parents (along with Josie’s) had worked for his parents. They were even named for the same man! But Leo Lyman was the last person Elvie expected a “random visit” from. After Elvies’ father had served his two terms as president, the Santoses had moved back to Texas. Sure the friends had seen each-other at various state functions throughout the years, had even attended each-other’s weddings, and had a cordial friendship, plus their political leanings were nearly identical.  
  
Still, Texas was a long way south for the new Democratic nominee for President of the United States.  
  
“Send him in,” Elvie said with a rueful shake of his head. He leaned back in his chair as his friend entered.  
  
Leo Lyman entered looking shorter than he did on the news clips. A mixture of his mother and father, Leo looked in charge wearing a navy-blue suit.  
  
“My mother always warned me about Lymans who come knocking,” Elvie said with a grin and Leo laughed. Leo’s father had been the one who had convinced Elvie’s father to run for president before either of them had been born.  
  
“With good reason too,” Leo replied, taking a seat in front of Elvie’s desk. “You know what I want.”  
  
Elvie nodded. “You aren’t beating around the bush. Ambassador to Canada is a bit of demotion from Governor of Texas, don’t you think?”  
  
There was more laughing. They were laughing as if they had seen each other last week. “God. I knew this was the right decision. I want you as my running mate. If I’m going to change America for the better, I want to be surrounded by the right people.”  
  
Elvie rolled his eyes. Leo was certainly a politician. But they were both political geniuses. “Vice president does nothing unless you plan on keeling over.” Both men were in their mid 40s. “I think I’d rather go to Canada. You only want me because I’m a democrat that comes with Texas, Roman Catholics, and Hispanics. You got those three and you have this race wrapped up.”  
  
“Actually, I only need Texas.” It wasn’t far from the truth. Since his the infamous upset of Matthew Santos taking of Texas in the 2006 election, Texas had been a loose, but hefty, card in almost every election since. “Come on. I can assure you, your role as vice-president won’t just to have a heartbeat. I want your opinion on matters. No one knows the south like you.”  
  
“Rosamie might actually kill me.”  
  
“And you think Marc doesn’t want to kill me?”  
  
“How are Marc and the kids?”  
  
“I think they want to kill me.”  
  
“You’re not doing a very good job of trying to convince me.”  
  
“I know,” Leo nodded. “Because I know you don’t need convincing. You want to do it. You want to bring America into the future. You want to finally close the funding gap on stem-cell research. You want holonet security. Come on. Leo Lyman/Leo-Vincente Santos 2054 sounds pretty great. It’s what our fathers would have wanted.”  
  
Elvie looked to an image of his late father hanging on the wall. He knew people compared him to the “late, grate Matthew Santos - champion of bipartisanship”. Elvie had grown up in his father’s shadow, looking exactly like the man.  
  
It _wasn’t quite_ the job his father practically groomed him for, but it was just one step below. And it would put him in the perfect spot in four or eight years. “My dad has been dead for six years. It’s my mother who scares me.”  
  
“She scares me too. But I already have Josie and her parents are being back-seat politicians.”  
  
Elvie shook his head. “This truly is a legacy campaign.”  
  
“So you’re in?”  
  
“I’ll have to discuss it with Rose and the kids. But yes. I’m in.” Elvie then pushed his wheelchair out from the desk, grabbed the push-rims, and pushed himself around the desk so that he could shake Leo’s hand. “We aren’t actually going to win this.”  
  
After the handshake, they hugged. “Why do you say that?”  
  
“Because our fathers might have been powerful men, but our mothers were both born in Canada. Not sure how we are going to be able to spin that.”  
  



	2. There

**Timeframe: 2033**  

 

It happened on a quiet Tuesday evening. A phone call from out of nowhere. Donna and Josh had just finished dinner and were sitting on their back deck enjoying their garden. Leo was now in his twenties and was off on his own. The teenage twins - Abi and Noah - were enjoying their summer vacation.

 

Donna had frowned at the caller ID, but answered. “Hello?… Helen? What?” Donna then went pale and let out an “oh… oh god!”

 

Josh was immediately concerned, frowned under his white beard, and reached for his wife’s had, but she immediately got up with the phone and ran inside. Feeling something within the pit of his stomach, he hurried behind her to see her leaned over the kitchen table, writing something on a notepad.

 

After excruciating minutes, she said, “I will be there,” and she hung up the phone.

 

“Is it one of the kids?”

 

“No, no.”

 

Josh was relieved. It wasn’t their Leo, Abi, or Noah.

 

She continued. “It’s Elvie.”

 

Elvie Santos was one of their friend’s kids. Josh had made Elvie’s father President of the United States over two decades ago and had worked as his Chief of Staff. Donna had worked for Elvie’s mother as her Chief of Staff . While the families had been close for eight years, they had drifted apart after the Santoses had left the White House, yet had remained friends.

 

Josh felt bad for feeling relieved. Not only was Elvie the son of friends, but was a good kid with his mother’s book-smarts and his father’s social intelligence. He had just finished at Columbia Law School, yet had decided to join the Air Force. Josh seemed to remember an agreement the kid had with his parents - to get an education, then he could do whatever he pleased with his life.

 

What Donna said next dropped his heart into his bowels. “There’s been an accident. He was on a training run. His plane crashed. He was airlifted to GW hospital.”

 

“Oh god. We have to go see him.”

 

“Yeah, because that isn’t even the worst of it. Matt and Helen are in the middle of India on an excavation with Peter.” Because what else do former-presidents and first ladies do with their time but go around to archaeological sites? “It’s going to be at least 24 hours before they can get here. And Miranda can’t travel because she’s very pregnant.” Donna took a deep breath and ran her hand through her greying blonde hair. “They just needed someone to make rational medical decisions until they can get here. And.” She wiped a tear from her eye. “Just to be with there with him.”

 

They could do that.

 

* * *

 

By the time Josh and Donna arrived at the hospital with the few things they would need over the next couple of days, the Santoses had contacted their lawyer, who had then contacted the hospital. The Lymans were now legally able to make decisions for the care of Elvie, but there were few decisions to be made.

 

“He’s young and was in good health, but there is only so much the body can take,” the doctor in his sixties, about Donna’s age, was explaining. “If he pulls through, he’ll never have the same life. But, frankly, if the man is religious, last rights should be arranged.”

 

Donna squeezed Josh’s forearm. “Get a priest.” She turned back to the doctor. “Can we see him?”

 

He nodded and led her to a room with large sliding door. Leo-Vincente’s dark hair and skin stood out against the white bedsheets - his upper body seemed implanted into hard foam to keep him immobile. He was hooked to endless machines and hospital IVs. What had the Santoses done to deserve this fate for their young son? Donna wondered.

 

It was hard not to look at the kid and think of her own Leo. The same age; the same name. It could have been her Leo here. She needed to call Leo.

 

She gasped when Elvie’s eyes opened - bloodshot with brown irises. He was conscious? He was awake through this hell?

 

“D… Donna?” he murmured under the oxygen mask. Every breath seemed laboured, but he still held eye contact. No wonder Helen wanted someone here with him as soon as possible. He was aware of what was happening. No-one should die alone, and not a 24-year-old. Donna had held Elvie as a baby and had taken care of him as a kid. If this was his end, she would be here.

 

“Yeah,” she said softly, sitting down and taking his hand. He weakly held her hand, so she covered the IVs going into his skin with her other hand. “Your parents and brother are on their way and I think your aunts are going to try to come if they can.”

 

“So… Mom sent you.… Sorry for… the trouble.”

 

Donna tried, and failed to, hold back tears. “No trouble at all. We wanted to be here for you.”

 

“There’s a catholic priest on his way,” Josh said, entering.

 

“I… don’t plan on needing him,” he said, eyeing Donna with a smirk.

 

Josh then realized Elvie was awake. “Oh, Leo-Vincente.”

 

“My… full name? A priest? Josh? I must be dying.”

 

“No, hush, don’t say that Elvie.” Donna tried to smile to give him encouragement.

 

“No,” Josh said, walking around to the other side of the bed. “Because its your parents who are going to kill you.”

 

“Oh Lord…” Elvie murmured. “Then just… get it over quick.”

 

“I’m going to hit you both,” Donna said, just as the priest walked in.

 

* * *

 

Josh and Donna had watched as the priest preformed Elvie’s last rites. They had then stayed with him throughout the night. The next morning, doctors decided Elvie was strong enough to take him into surgery again. “Go home,” he told them. “You need your rest.”

 

“You calling us old?” Josh asked.

 

“Yeah.”

 

“Someone will be here when you wake up,” Donna assured him, kissing his forehead.

 

* * *

 

His Aunt Lucy was there by the time Josh and Donna returned from their home where they had rested. They stayed until Matthew and a tearful Helen arrived that night. With all the commotion, Josh and Donna knew it was best to slip away with nothing but a nod and a mouthed “Thank you,” from the former president.

 

Three days later there was a knock on the door. Abi was the one to answer it, in leggings, a hoodie, and her hair piled on top of her head. “Mom! Dad! The old president is here.”

 

“What one?” Josh shouted from his den in the basement.

 

Donna entered the front entrance from the kitchen. “Ignore them,” she said to the couple. Donna had seen three couples age over four presidencies, but none had looked as old as the Santoses did as they stood on her front porch. Their faces were long with exhaustion, their bodies closed off. She wore no make-up; he had stubble. “Please, come in.”

 

“Thank you,” Helen said. “We don’t want to intrude, we just wanted to thank you for being there for Elvie. I don’t know how we can show how thankful we are.” She handed Donna a potted plant and a card, then her hand reached for her husband’s. After all these years, they still loved each other.

 

Josh had appeared up the stairs. “You would have done the same for us.”

 

“You have always been there for us and our family,” Helen said.

 

“And it has always been a pleasure,” Donna smiled, hoping to ease her friend’s guilt. “How is Elvie?”

 

Matt Santos finally spoke. “It’s a gift from the Lord that he is still with us. But his spinal chord was injured pretty badly and his pelvis is just a mess. They are going to try what stem-cell treatments they can, but it is unlikely that he will achieve normal function again.” He heaved a heavy sigh. “But there’s no sign of brain damage. The kid is joking around and talking about finally taking the bar exam.”

 

“We’re going to come visit again within the next few days,” Donna assured them.

 

“I think he’ll like that. He’s getting sick of us,” Matt said with a smile. “He kicked us out and told us to go to the hotel to sleep.”

 

“Which we should probably do,” Helen said, patting her husband’s stomach.

 

After the Santoses left, Donna decided to phone her Leo. She had spoke him just a few days before, but needed to hear his voice.


	3. Madame President

**Title: Madame President**  
 **Timeframe: Summer 2032**  
 **Characters: Ainsley Hayes-Seaborn, Sam Seaborn, Josie Seaborn, Imogene Seaborn**  
 **AN:** We will return to the Leo/Leo campaign (… because I have three other vignettes already written), but I wanted to mix up these vignettes a bit, to introduce some other characters and to get out some more head-canon.  
  
  
The phone was ringing. Sam was up, out of sleep, and sitting up in bed before realizing he wasn’t President of the United States and hadn’t been for the past five and a half years. But his heart was still gripped in fear as he sat in the darkness.   
  
He turned around to the other side of the bed. Ainsley was up. She had answered the phone.   
  
And if someone was calling her at 12:37 in the morning, only one of three people could people could be in trouble.  
  
And Sam knew it couldn’t be either of their daughters. Both were in their rooms (or so he hoped) - Sam had checked in on Imogene and Josie just two hours before.  
  
“Yes. Of course. I will be there in fifteen minutes.” Vice President Ainsley Hayes-Seaborn hung up the phone and finally turned on the light. She was immediately out of the bed and headed for the closet. She finally turned back to look at a bewildered Sam. He could surmise what had happened, but he couldn’t believe it. Vice President wasn’t a real job. Leo McGarry had once likened it to an emeritus position. “Wake the girls. We need to leave for the White House,” she said, taking off her nightgown. She reached for the black dress and jacket she had prepared for this sad occasion. “The president dozed off in his study. They can’t wake him. He’s being transported to the hospital now.”  
  
That was all the information Sam needed. He too grabbed an outfit he had prepared on two hangers for such an occasion: a pair of black pants and a dark navy blue shirt. He quickly pulled them on as members of the Secret Service invaded their bedroom. Sam escaped and first headed to Josie’s room, down the hall.  
  
Josie had decided to spend the summer with her parents before returning to Duke for her final year of her undergraduate degree. She was a sensible, helpful girl who would be turning 22 in the autumn. Sam opened her bedroom door and tapped on the light to see books scattered across the floor and a brunette in bed.  
  
“Wake up Josie,” Sam said, quickly, going to her closet. He found a plain blue dress and a dark grey sweater.  
  
“Wha? Dad?” Her hair was everywhere.  
  
He threw the outfit onto the footboard of the bed. “We need to be at the White House. President Newell was taken to the hospital. I don’t think it looks good.”  
  
“Wait, what, is this for real?” she asked, sitting up.  
  
“Yes!” Sam said, throwing his hand up. “Why would I joke about this? It’s code Mommy Madame or whatever stupid thing you and your sister came up with. Get up and get in the limo,” he said, assuming there was a limo already waiting for them. “I have to get your sister.”  
  
He then headed up to the top floor of Number One Observatory Circle - the official residence of the Vice President. In the loft space was where the younger Seaborn daughter had made her home. Imogene Claudia Seaborn had turn 17 just a few months ago. She had never had the greatest relationship with Sam, being born when he had started as Governor of California, she always had been attached to her mother, until her mother had become a congresswoman and then vice president.   
  
Sam reached the top of the stairs to see Imogene still awake, sitting on the bed, using her laptop. The light from the screen illuminated the fare skin and blonde hair. She looked up, even though she had headphones on. “God! Dad! Knock much?”  
  
“Put something respectable on and come downstairs. We have to go.” He went to her black hole of a closet and had no idea where to start. He grabbed at a plain black hoodie.  
  
“Why?” she whined.  
  
“Your mother needs to be at the White House.”  
  
“But I don’t.”  
  
“For this, you do.”  
  
* * *  
  
“I still have no idea why we are here,” Imogene groaned, her head resting on her hand. It was now four in the morning. She and her sister were in the Yellow Room, otherwise known as the formal living room of the first family of the United States. They had been the first family, her and Josie, for the first twelve years of Imogene’s life: first as the first family of California, then as the first family of the United States. Most of Imogene’s childhood memories were of this room, but she hated every one of them.  
  
“You know exactly why we are here,” Josie, who was sitting on a couch across from her younger sister, whispered with annoyance. She had her legs crossed and had been quietly reading a book she had brought with her.  
  
“Yeah, but this was never supposed to happen! Vice Presidents are irrelevant! Mom said that there was no way we would have to deal with this life after the election. Our lives were supposed to be _relatively_ normal.”  
  
Josie gave her sister a dubious look. “Our lives are never going to be normal.”  
  
A door then opened in the distance and they heard weeping, along with their father’s comforting voice. “I know, Janice. William was a wonderful man.”  
  
Imogene’s heart sank. “Our lives are never going to be normal.”  
  
Josie gave her sister a look that said _shut up._  
  
A few minutes later, their father entered the room, looking tired. “Hey girls.” He hugged each of his daughters in turn. Josie hugged her father warmly; Imogene begrudgingly.   
  
“What’s going on Dad?” Josie asked.  
  
“Is Mom…” Imogene couldn’t bring herself to ask the question.  
  
“No, not yet.” Sam sighed. “President Newell had a stroke, but it was too long before anyone got to him. He’s on life support. The first lady has agreed to wait a few hours before letting him rest. The three of us are going to go back to the house and get ready for Mom’s swearing in ceremony.”  
  
Imogene, who aspired to be a doctor, put her hand up in protest. “Wait, what? The president is being kept alive by machines so Mom can get ready?”  
  
“The public needs to be informed. They need to process the information. There needs to be witnesses to mom’s oath of office, or else people may not see it as legitimate.”  
  
“Because she’s a woman?” Josie asked, outraged.  
  
“No,” Sam said softly and unconvincingly. “Because it has been seventy years since a president has died and we live in a different world. The American people need to see her take the oath.”  
  
Imogene shook her head. She used to look up to her mother, but this was simply cruel politics.   
  
* * *  
  
And the people of the world did see President Ainsley Hayes-Seaborn take her oath of office to become the first female President of the United States. It was a small ceremony in the oval office at 2PM. The former president had been disconnected from life support just minutes before. Sam held a Holy Bible as his wife placed one hand on the book and raised a hand to repeat after the Chief Justice.   
  
Josie and Imogene had sat in the background, both wearing plain black dresses to give the guise of mourning for late President William Newell. In reality, Josie was mourning for the loss of an ideal. She had always hoped that the first female president would win that position under her own merits, and not simply ascend to the role - not that her mother didn’t deserve it, but Josie knew there would be opposition.  
  
Imogene was mourning the loss of her mother. This was the second parent Imogene had lost to the people of the United States.


	4. Bother

**Title: Bother**  
 **Timeframe: August 2054**  
 **Characters: Leo-Vincente Santos, Josie Seaborn**  
 **AN:** I think my brain just wants to live in 2054 instead of 2017.   
  
  
  
“This campaign might actually kill me,” Elvie groaned as he transferred from his wheelchair to the couch in the hotel’s bar. He unceremoniously leaned back in the corner where the back met the arm, taking up half the couch, undoing his tie and top button of his shirt. He knew he should probably find his suite for tonight and crawl into bed, but he _needed_ a drink.   
  
Josie Seaborn took the other half of the black leather couch, holding a martini, a bag of chips, and a glass of whiskey. She gave the whisky to Elvie. “Don’t say that. The last the vice presidential candidate named Leo died on election night.”  
  
Elvie did a sit up to take a sip of the drink, then leaned back. “Oh, I think I’m well aware of that fact.” That had been the night his father had been elected president, and Elvie was named after the late Leo McGarry.   
  
She scowled at him before reaching for the TV remote. There weren’t many patrons in the bar at this time - other than fellow campaign volunteers. “What time is it?” she asked him.  
  
He looked at his watch. “Depends. What state are we in?”  
  
She paused. “North Carolina? I think.”  
  
“Just past eleven.”  
  
She turned on the news. Fox News.   
  
“Oh, Lord, please, _no,”_ he groaned, finally sitting up.   
  
“I didn’t know if you know this _Governor,_ but we _are_ in the middle of a campaign.”  
  
“Is that what they are calling Hell now?”  
  
“I need to see what they are saying about Leo… and you.”  
  
He rolled his eyes. “No, you need a dinner that consists of more than alcohol and Cheetos. And we both need sleep.”  
  
She nodded. “After all the campaigns our parents did, it’s a wonder we all weren’t born brain damaged.”  
  
Elvie chuckled. “We followed Leo into this, didn’t we? Who says we weren’t.”  
  
“In that case, will all the campaigns Leo’s parents did, what does that make him?”  
  
“The leader of the crazies,” Elvie murmured, taking another drink. “Soon to be leader of the free world.”  
  
She swatted him. “Don’t say that! Don’t tempt the wrath of the whatever from high atop the thing!” It was something her dad used to say.  
  
“You going to make me go outside, turn around three times, and curse?”  
  
“I think it’s spit. Dad used to get people to spit.”  
  
“Well, that’s just unsanitary. Just like the dribble you are watching on TV.”  
  
“Well what news outlets do you watch?” she asked, throwing the remote at him.  
  
“ _Sane_ ones.” He threw the remote back at her. “Not that anything is sane these days.”  
  
After a few minutes of silence and of him zoning out, she asked, “Does it bother you, what the right wing says about you and Leo?”  
  
He shrugged, not really paying attention. “No. I mean, I’d love it if they focused on the actual issues our country is facing and how Leo and I propose to fix them, but nobody knows better than you that campaigns are half pageantry. They could be a bit more creative, though. If I hear “Leos and legacy” in the same sentence I might _actually_ get caught rolling my eyes.”  
  
“I’m not talking about the obsession with your fathers. Everyone knows you riding their memories,” she teased. “No. I’m talking about Leo and Marc; and your disability.”  
  
Elvie sighed, running his hand though his hair. “Who Leo loves has _nothing_ to do with his ability to lead a country. It is freaking 2054. So, yeah, that is annoying me - but it is mostly just the older generations and even then it is such an insignificant minority. As for my disability, I guess they are showing their ignorance. This country has had physically disabled presidents and vice-presidents. The vast majority of the White House is accessible thanks to FDR and I’ve mastered his style of speaking at podiums with an exoskeleton, and it isn’t like I’m hiding it like he or Bartlet did. I don’t have a progressive disease. Plus Joey Lucas was brilliant as your dad’s VP. I’ll grant them that I have had to work with the potential body-men about out how I will get to the Situation room or to bunkers in case of emergencies, but I have a plan and I’m adaptable. I don’t mind that they are addressing the obvious, but if they just ask, I can explain.”  
  
She nodded, turning off the TV.  
  
He continued, lightening the mood. “Realistically, the only thing I can’t do is stand up when Leo enters a room if he becomes president.”  
  
A voice spoke behind them. “Not that you would anyway.”  
  
They turned around. Leo was standing, his arms crossed. Josie stood to greet him.  
  
“Leo!” Elvie exclaimed. “I thought you were in Pennsylvania.”  
  
Leo shook his head. “We are in Pennsylvania.” 


	5. Mr. First Lady

**Title: Mr. First Lady**  
 **Timeframe: Summer 2032**  
 **Characters: Sam, Josh, Abi, and Noah**  
  
  
After the death of President Willam Newell, it had taken a month for the Seaborn family to finally move (back) into the White House. Josh Lyman, along with his daughter and younger son, were among the first to visit.   
  
They were shown to the Residence by an usher. The mood around the building was still quiet and somber. The fact that Congress was on their summer recess was probably a big part of it.  
  
Josh looked around the Yellow Room with a smile. “Man, if these walls could talk.”  
  
“They’d probably be more interesting to listen to than you,” Abi retorted.   
  
Josh gave his 16-year-old daughter an annoyed look. The girl in her tunic and leggings simply grinned back.   
  
Her twin, Noah, wearing jeans and a t-shirt, shook his head. “I wouldn’t want to listen to these walls. They’d probably get you put in front of some Grand Jury.”  
  
“No, not this room. I used to change your diapers in this room.” Josh had been - on, then off, then on again - Chief of Staff to President Sam Seaborn from the time the twins were two until they were ten.  
  
“And we’re probably going to be changing your diapers in here, if Leo continues the way he’s going.” Abi was referring to the fact that their older brother, Leo, was going to enter Harvard Law School in a few weeks.  
  
“If Dad lives long enough,” Noah muttered.   
  
“This is the abuse I get for having children. What did I ever do to you two?” Josh scowled.  
  
“Well, for starters,” Noah said, “You forced me to share a womb with _this_ one,” he hitched his thumb at his sister, “For eight months.”  
  
“Second,” Abi added. “You forced us to live in the same house as Leo.”  
  
“Third,” Noah began. His father interrupted him.  
  
“How many of these do you have?”  
  
“Josh! ” They herd a voice. They turned to see Sam Seaborn enter the room. “Abi! Noah!”  
  
“Uncle Sam!” the twins said in unison. They then hugged him.   
  
Sam and Josh shook hands. “Mr. First Lady,” Josh said with a laugh.  
  
Sam rolled his eyes. “Do you honestly think you’re the first one to make that joke?” They began walking through the Residence.  
  
“No, I saw you with Dr. Bartlet and the Santoses at the funeral,” Josh admitted. He, along with Donna, had been at the state funeral of President Willam Newell as well, but Sam had attended alongside Newell’s widow, Janice, and Josh had actively avoided her.  
  
“Abbey called me Mr. Hayes-Seaborn. Helen ‘Ma’am’ed me.”  
  
Josh laughed. “Becoming a wife means you now on first name basis with the other ladies? You now a part of their coven?”  
  
“Dad!” Abi said, putting her hands on her hips. “That is so sexist! We are in the White House with the first female president.”   
  
“Agreed,” Sam said, pointing to Abi. “But I do get to go to all the official gatherings of First Ladies with all their functions. Are you and your mom coming to Abbey Bartlet’s 90th birthday? We are having it here.”  
  
Abi nodded. “Probably. There will be tea and cake.”  
  
“And no men,” Josh added.  
  
Sam shoved Josh’s arm. For two seventy-year-old men, they acted like children.  
  
“What do people have to call you now?” Noah asked.  
  
“They aren’t sure yet. People have just been calling me Sir. Unofficially, I’m the First Gentleman - that is what other countries use. The media still calls me President Seaborn, but technically I shouldn’t be called Mr. President, though people still do. I’m supposed to be called The Honourable Samuel Seaborn, Former President of the United States, but I’m fine with Mr. Seaborn. But you monkeys better keep calling me Uncle Sam.”  
  
“I got it! First Lady Samantha Seaborn!” Josh exclaimed. “That fixes everything.  
  
“DAD! You are what is wrong with this country!”  
  
“You know, Abi.” Josh puts his arm around his daughter’s shoulders. “I’ve gotten that a lot over the past 35 years. Mostly from Republicans. I consider it a compliment.”  
  
Abi groaned, disgusted. “Where’s Imogene?” she asked.  
  
“I let her to California to spend the rest of the summer with my sister. She isn’t exactly happy with her mother’s new job.”  
  
“See, Abi?” Josh said. “I could be a worse father - I could send you across the country when I don’t want to deal with you.”  
  
“Oh, I wish you would,” Abi groaned.  
  
“And where’s Josie?” However, Josh’s question was answered as soon as they entered the east wing and the suite of the First Gentleman. Josie was sitting behind a desk once occupied by the Chief of Staff to the First Lady.   
  
Josie smiled. “I’m my dad’s Chief of Staff.”  
  
“For now,” Sam added. “But you are finishing at Duke, then you _will_ get your Masters, _then_ we can talk about a job here if your mom decides to run for re-election.”  
  
“Who’s going to do it in the meantime?” Josh asked.  
  
“Why, you want it?” Sam asked.  
  
Josh scoffed. “No! And you aren’t asking my wife either.”  
  
“Dad!” Abi shouted in exasperation. “Mom can do whatever she wants.”  
  
“Not like First Lady is a real job anyways,” Josh countered.  
  
Sam nodded. “It really isn’t.”  
As they were speaking, the doors to the office suite opened and the President of the United States entered. “Yeah, they said that about being Vice President too,” she said.


	6. The Debate

**Title: The Debate**  
 **Timeframe: September 2054**  
 **Characters: Leo Lyman, Leo-Vincente Santos with brief appearances from Josie Seaborn, Marc Lyman, Rosamie Santos and Donna Lyman**  
  
  
“Elvie, this is horse crap,” Leo Lyman exclaimed, dropping the tablet in-between them on the limo seat. “Josie! Tell Elvie this is horse crap.”  
  
Josie momentarily looked up from her work. “Elvie this is horse crap,” she said before going back to her own work.   
  
“Hey. I got you everything you wanted: a town hall debate and two traditional debates, one with no time-limit,” Elvie said, putting his hands up in defeat. “I don’t know what else you wanted.” He had been put in charge of debate negotiations with President Peterson’s campaign staff.   
  
“How about a _sane_ vice presidential debate?” Leo countered.  
  
“Calm down, Leo. It isn’t like Vice President McCord and I will be duelling to our deaths.”  
  
“I’d watch that,” Josie mumbled.  
  
Leo ignored her. “It might be! How are you going to do an hour long traditional debate on a stage with podiums? I explicitly told you to try to get a town hall debate, or at least a debate sitting at a table with the VP.”  
  
“And I ignored you.” Elvie’s remark got a chuckle from Josie. “Look: they weren’t going for anything we wanted, and they definitely didn’t want either of us to get a town hall debate. So I got one for you, in return, I have to do a good old fashion stage debate. I’ll have my exoskeleton on,” Elvie said, referring to the carbon fibre frame he could put on to allow him to stand with help. He typically only wore it for shorter periods of time since it wasn’t comfortable and could create pressure sores if worn for longer periods. He had to use his arms and either canes or a body-man to hold himself up, which put a lot of strain on his body.  
  
“We’ll get a shorter lectern or something,” Leo said, waving his hand. “You can sit at that.”  
  
“”No,” Elvie insisted. “Because that will look stupid. We both know I have to look presidential; like I can lead if you keel over. I don’t want any accommodations, not if they are a detriment to you.” He took a breath. “Joey Lucas was never allowed any extra time for translations when she ran with Josie’s dad, and she had to speak her answers for herself.”  
  
“The Republicans practically forced her to,” Josie said with a nod. “And it completely backfired on them.”  
  
“I’m doing this for you, but if I didn’t think I could do this, I wouldn’t have agreed to it.”  
  
Leo sighed. “When I asked Josie’s parents who I should ask for the bottom of my ticket, they said to get a running mate who will do anything for me and a vice president who can coldly step over my warm corpse to continue our work.”  
  
“And you bet your pants I’m rolling over your still-warm body. So listen to me.”  
  
* * *  
  
Three weeks later, Leo Lyman was at home, relaxing on his own couch for the first evening in what seemed like months. Tonight was all about the candidates for vice-president, allowing for a few hours of respite for himself.  
  
His husband entered the living-room with two glasses of wine. Their kids were already in bed.  
  
“We don’t _have_ to watch this, you know,” Leo said as he turned on the TV.  
  
Marc handed Leo a glass and sat down beside him. “Yes, we do, and I know we do.”  
  
Leo signed and nodded. Graphics flashed on the screen, then Elvie Santos appeared standing behind a lectern, holding the sides for support. Still, he looked confident and in control. A short distance away from him was Vice President Jackie McCord - an older woman who reminded Leo of his mean fifth-grade teacher.  
  
“Well,” Marc said. “He certainly has youth on his side.”  
  
Leo was about to make a reference to “vigour” when the phone rang.   
  
Marc put his hand on Leo’s shoulder and got up to get it. Marc came back, holding the phone out to Leo. “It’s your mom.”  
  
Leo answered, but didn’t have much time before his mother began to yell at him. _“Leo! What kind of stunt are you pulling with Elvie? Not even your father would have done something so cruel.”_  
  
“Elvie wanted to do it! I tried to talk him out of it.”  
  
Marc shook his head. “You two really aren’t giving the guy a chance.”  
  
“Mom, can I call you back after the debate?”  
  
 _“Fine. Your lucky I don’t drive over there to swat you.”_  
  
He hung up. Leo held his husband’s hand, wondering _if_ he had made the right decision in asking Elvie, but as the debate went on it was clear that his doubts were unfounded.   
  
Elvie normally excelled at town hall debates where he could engage with the people asking real questions and move around the stage while his opponent (also) sat - Leo had seen Elvie in action when he had run for congress, and then governor. But tonight, even with rigid rules and time-limits, Elvie charming. His answers were clear and to the point. He had clearly gotten tips from Joey Lucas. He wasn’t rushing, but Leo knew Elvie wanted the focus on him as little as possible. Yet, it was working and highlighting how longwinded and confusing Vice President McCord’s answers were.   
  
As the hour went on, small mannerism betrayed Elvie: he gripped the lectern tighter and everytime a commercial was announced, he’d look behind him, probably to where someone was waiting with a chair to take out to him. However, he had lasted until the final handshake. His wife and kids then went out on stage to hug him.   
  
Leo didn’t have to wait long before political pundits were calling the vice presidential debate a win for the democrats. After calling his mother back to be berated by her for an half hour, Leo made a quick call to Elvie.  
  
“You are brilliant, you know that? I could kiss you.”  
  
 _“No offence,”_ Elvie’s voice was strained. _“But I’d rather my wife do that.”_  
  
“Are you alright?”  
  
 _“My body hurts, but I’m on top of the world. Plus Rosamie said she’s going to give me a nice warm bath back at the hotel.”_  
  
In the background there was a distinct, _“Leo-Vincente! I said no such thing! I said you should have a warm bath!”_  
  
Leo laughed. He then he quietly said, “Thank you.”  
  
 _“Don’t thank me. You picked_ me _. You listened to_ me _. Thank_ you _._ ”


	7. The Morning After

Title: The Morning After   
Timeframe: November 2054  
Characters: Leo-Vincente Santos, Leo Lyman  
AN: A bit more of introspection.

 

John Nance Garner had once infamously referred to the vice presidency as not worth a pitcher of warm spit. Of course, that was the toned down version of the quote. John Adams had called the vice presidency the most insignificant office. Elvie’s personal favourite was Harry Truman’s opinion on the position. He had called the office “as useful as a cow’s fifth udder” (again, toned down). Joey Lucas, the first female vice president, had told Elvie herself to “find a nice hobby if Leo gets elected.”

But none of those vice presidents served under a man with the heart of Leo Lyman. Leo’s best friend had lost her mother two nights ago; the night that Leo was elected President of the United States. Of course Leo had flown to California to be with Josie and the rest of the Seaborn family, and to help plan the state funeral for President Hayes-Seaborn. Leo had a damn big heart. 

Presidential candidates have a fine line to balance when it comes to picking a running mate. Of course they need to pick someone they can trust - someone to do anything (legal) to get them elected. And they needed to pick someone with similar political leanings. But their running mate also needed to be different, to pick up a previous unreachable demographic of voters. For example, Leo was from the north, he had needed Elvie to pick up votes in the south. Leo was never popular with Christian voters; Elvie was.

Vice Presidential candidates had to be willing to hold a position with almost power - a position that had been likened to bodily fluids - but also, at a moments notice, to be willing and able to run a country. 

Which meant, while Leo got to have a huge heart, Elvie had to be cold. Detached. He had to stay. Do work. 

Josie had always been a friend. She and Elvie belonged to one of the smallest clubs: children of presidents (though Elvie had only fleeting memories of his time growing up in the White House). Plus, they had gotten close over the past few months. Elvie knew the heartache of burying a parent who had been president. Grieving in the public eye was a nightmare with no balm. 

But Josie needed Leo right now.

And Leo needed Elvie to be here, in DC, just two days after the election. Because Leo had made Elvie “Executive Director” of the presidential transition.

Before boarding the campaign’s private plane to go to California yesterday morning, Leo had asked Elvie, “Are you sure you can do this? The Republicans have been in office for twelve years, they aren’t going to make things easy for you.”

Elvie had scoffed. “Mr. President-Elect,” he grinned as he used the title for the first time, “Canadians do their transitions in like two weeks! If anyone can handle this, it’s me!”

Elvie had then boarded a different plane; one headed for Washington D.C.. Here, he had been given an office space across from the White House to do his work. 

The limo was pulling up to the office space now. Elvie got out of the car and entered the building. He entered to cheers and clapping. So many faces were smiling and happy. 

Elvie held up a hand and eventually got the crowd settled. “Thank you. Thank you all. There is no way the President-Elect and I could have done this without each and every one of you. I’m sure he could thank each and every one of you. As you all know, the President-Elect is currently with the family of late President Hayes-Seaborn. President Hayes-Seaborn was a giant in this country. I looked up to her. She made it known that lines are not drawn in the sand; that just because you are a Republican or Democrat doesn’t mean you hold one set of defined opinions and that the other guys are wrong and are therefore the enemy. She taught us that we are all human; that united we are Americans. We have achieved much together, but much more has to be done. Let’s get to work and ask ourselves ‘what’s next?’.”

Pitcher of warm spit be damned.


	8. First Gentleman and Second Lady (AKA Leos Can’t Dance)

**Title: First Gentleman and Second Lady (AKA Leos Can’t Dance)**  
 **Timeframe: January 20, 2055**  
 **Characters: Leo Lyman, Elvie Santos, Marc Lyman, Rosamie Santos, Helen Santos, Donna Lyman**  
  
  
Today, Leo Lyman had been sworn in as President of the United States. Leo-Vincente Santos had been sworn in as vice-president. Tomorrow, work began. But tonight they celebrated.  
  
First Gentleman Marc beamed in his all-black tuxedo as he led his husband into the first inaugural ball. Those who had gathered in attendance all cheered. Lights twinkled and the floor sparkled.   
  
Second Lady Rosamie Santos held her husband’s hand as they entered behind the First Couple. Her black hair spilled curls from the bun high on her head. She was wearing a light blue lace dress.   
  
After dinner and toasts, the band began to play a slow song. The Master of Ceremonies announced. “It is time for the First Couple to take their first dance as President and First Gentleman of the United States.”  
  
Marc, with a less than thrilled expression, looked at Leo. “Of all the things I’ve had to endure over the past few months, this will be the worst,” Marc said, as Leo stood.  
  
Leo extended his hand down to his husband. “Come on. I’ve been taking lessons for this very occasion.”  
  
Marc snorted. “You said that for our wedding.” He plopped his napkin down and got up. “Even your mother laughed at that fiasco.” Leo practically dragged Marc to the dance floor.   
  
Marc held Leo, intending to lead, but Leo wasn’t following, nor could he move in time to the beat.   
  
“I think I got this,” Leo whispered into Marc’s ear.  
  
Marc laughed and rested his head on Leo’s shoulder in defeat. Marc looked up and mouthed the words “Help me!” at Rosamie Santos who laughed but got up and _literally_ pushed her husband onto the dance floor in his wheelchair.  
  
Elvie Santos was not amused, but still allowed his wife to put her hands on his shoulders. He placed his hands on her hips as she swayed.   
  
As the music died down to switch songs, Marc turned to Rosamie. “My husband can’t dance.”  
  
Rosamie looked down at her husband. “I can sympathize.”  
  
“This is just abuse,” Elvie muttered, going back to the table. Leo scowled and followed.  
  
Marc offered his hand to Rosamie. Together they laughed as they danced to a much more up-beat song. Others in attendance began to join them: Leo’s sister got her twin brother onto the dance floor and, in a quiet corner, Josie and Imogene Seaborn danced together with their father.   
  
“How did we get into this?” Rosamie asked Marc.   
  
Marc smiled as he looked at their husbands, Leo and Elvie had been joined by their mothers. “We married the right men.”  
  
“Or the wrong ones, depending on the day.”   
  
He chuckled, then continued. “I’ve been thinking, if you’re the Second Lady and I’m the First Gentleman, doesn’t that mean _you actually are_ the First Lady?  
  
She allowed him to spin her. “No,” was her blunt reply. “But if you want my help with anything just ask. My mother-in-law is practically the walking manual on everything _not_ to do as First Lady.”  
  
“Good. Because I have a Daughters Of The American Revolution event to organize right away.”  
  
“Oh no,” Rosamie said, shaking her head. “Nope. I can’t help with that.”  
  
“Why not?”  
  
“Marc, both my parents are Filipino,” she deadpanned.  
  
“Rosamie, I’m not a daughter.”  
  
Both laughed, shaking their heads. “Oh, what have we gotten into?”  
  
After the song ended, they went back to their husbands and their mothers-in-law. Helen Santos, at 86, was wearing a black dress and a red shawl. Donna Lyman - now 83 - wore a similar style square-cut dress in dark purple, with a blazer.   
  
“It’s almost time for us to get to the next ball,” Leo announced.   
  
“How many of these do we have to attend?” Marc asked.  
  
“You two? _At least_ nine,” Helen said, hands on her hips.  
  
“How did you ever do it in heels?”  
  
Rosamie cleared her throat.  
  
“Oh, don’t worry,” Donna said, patting Rosamie’s shoulder. “The media will lose interest in you after about three balls. Just don’t end up at a 24-hour diner.”  
  
“Any other advice for the new First Gentleman and Second Lady?” Marc asked.  
  
“Don’t get pregnant,” Helen said it as though she was talking to teenagers going to prom. She then looked at Marc and Leo. “Nevermind. That’s not an issue for you two.” She then looked at her own son, then at her daughter-in-law. “Or for you two either.”  
  
“Oh, thanks _Mom_ ,” Elvie sighed. “Must the whole world know?”  
  
His mother ignored him. “I think my date and I,” she said, linking arms with Donna, “have done this Inaugural Ball _thing_ one too many times.”  
  
Donna nodded in agreement. “Shall I drop you off at Number One Observatory Circle before heading off to Pennsylvania Ave?”  
  
“Yes, please, unless my son would like me to pick up his children?” Both the Lyman and the Santos children were at the White House.   
  
Elvie shook his head. “No, that’s fine, Mom. Rose and I can get them after. The night is young, unlike you.”  
  
Helen rolled her eyes.  
  
“Besides,” Elvie continued. “I’m sure the kids are into all sorts of shenanigans with Leo’s.”  
  
Leo chuckled. “How much trouble did me, you, and Josie get into?”  
  
“ _A lot_ ,” both Helen and Donna answered.  
  
“And then we became President, Vice President, and Chief of Staff.” Leo grinned. “It’s like it was destined.”  
  
Marc turned to Rosamie. “Yeah, probably a very good thing neither of us are getting pregnant while in the White House.”

**Author's Note:**

> I tried to make this both futuristic, but also relatable and familiar. Because I hope the US sees election reform and an end to capital-punishment in the next 3 decades, and I hope we see mainstream stem-cell treatments within my lifetime. Yet, I know the reality of these things.


End file.
